


Don't Panic

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Disorders, M/M, OCD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't spell 'comedy' without 'OCD'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Panic

Chester wants to go dogging but Brad is agoraphobic and won’t leave his apartment. So instead they fuck in front of the living room window, looking down onto the street. Chester ploughs him thoroughly until they’re both spent, collapsing breathlessly against Brad’s sweaty back.

“God you’re so hot.” He mumbles, his lips trailing kisses along Brad’s shoulders. “I wish you’d let me fuck you in public.”

“We’ve been over this.” Brad says, not unhappily. “If I go out in public I’ll have a panic attack.”

“I’ll give you a rim job to calm you down, you silly agoraphobe.”

Brad presses a hand to the window, his palm leaving a dirty smudge that will irritate Chester until one of them cleans it. “You know I hate that name.” He says.

“Yeah. I know.” Chester murmurs, smiling. He rests his chin on Brad’s shoulder and looks down. “You jizzed on the window.”

“I know. I’m going to leave it there until you can’t stand it and clean it.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Oh you know it is. You can’t spell ‘comedy’ without OCD.”

The pair of them, damaged in their own ways, they fit together perfectly. Brad, he can’t leave the apartment to go grocery shopping so Chester stocks up and arranges everything in alphabetical order. Brad once asked how he could repay him, and Chester asked if he’d ever had a cleaner.

The answer was no. So Chester moved in to clean for him.

“If I didn’t have to wait until thirteen minutes has passed, I would so be walking out on you now. You stupid agoraphobe.”

“At least mine is a rational fear. Unlike not being able to do anything less than thirteen times. Think of terrorists. Nine-eleven. Nobody is going to kill me if I’m not in a crowd. Nobody will ever rob me.”

Running his hands over the flat expanse of Brad’s stomach Chester asks, “Doesn’t it ever get lonely, always being indoors?”

“No.” Brad says. “Because I have you.”

Thirteen minutes pass.

But Chester doesn’t move.


End file.
